No One Beats Him At His Game For Very Long
by sternenacht
Summary: There is only one thing that is inevitable in life, and no one beats Death at his game for very long. Leone, one of the many gods of death, wishes Bruno Buccellati had never saved him. It would have made everything so much easier.


There was a mercy in death, a release, an end to a story filled with suffering for even the most fortunate, but Leone would not make the reaping of this soul a kind one. He hid behind the face and demeanor of a young boy as he committed his crimes, leaving tracks of burning buildings in his wake, and, therefore, so much more work than was otherwise necessary. His orders were to bring the pink one down to Hell. No need to take him alive. The human devil was trapped at last, marking the end of the long, snow-soaked, forest night. No escape and no innocent bystanders to hear him scream; only one way out of the corner he'd backed himself into-death. It seemed he finally realized this, reached into his fraying purple sweater torn from Leone's knife, and pulled out an iron crucifix. It would not help him. Leone was no infernal being. He operated outside of the realm of Good and Evil, and simply Was. He had a job, and he did it, just like the others of his kind.

"The gods have abandoned you," he snarled, face splitting into a terrible grin. "Or, rather, you abandoned them." Snowflakes slashed at them both, settling in Leone's long white hair and catching the red-orange-yellow light of the rising sun behind him. The indifferent trees that shrouded them remained neutral in the stand-off between the human devil and Leone. Oh, how he hated the boring targets. This one was a welcome challenge.

Turning over the crucifix in his hands, the human devil looked every bit the caged animal he was. It glimmered, too bright for something made out of iron or lead or steel. He slid it apart to reveal that the longest part of the cross hid a blade and discarded the wood concealing it without care for where it landed. Why was he staying to fight? Did the human devil not know that no ordinary weapon could harm Death?

Leone didn't have time to ponder it any further before the human devil charged at him and stabbed him in the side with a roar. Ugly sounds tore out of his throat, passing from inhuman into unhinged. A sliver blade. How? Why? He had to have planned this. Why did he wait so long to attack? The hidden blade came back out as the human devil tugged it from its victim. Leone stutter-stepped for a second too long, searching for some rhyme or reason to the searing pain that blew through him. In hellish double-time, he played the stab back in his head over and over again. Even still, he knew enough to run, or try to, before the human devil could come for him again.

Oh, how quickly tables could turn! It hurt, it hurt, oh, _gods, _it hurt more than anything, and even though the chill in the winter air was so terribly cold beforehand, the blood dripping down his side left him so _warm. _Leone's panicked gasps rose in staccato white clouds as he struggled for air. No matter how much he breathed, it wasn't enough. The human devil was playing with him. There was no other explanation as to why he followed Leone as he death-marched onwards for a shot at escape. Neither knew what was forward. He was already dead, and they both knew it. When Leone gripped his side in some desperate attempt to stop from bleeding out into the snow, his hand came away glittering with golden ichor.

"Whatever happened to the gods abandoning me?" he jeered, and his voice was low and cruel. He made another wild stab in Leone's direction. This one cut so deep in his arm that Leone swore he felt it reverberate against bone. He didn't feel the pain as much. Was he going into shock? Was this what dying felt like? That terrible voice spoke again. "You have seen my face. You could not survive, be you god or mortal."

Which one of Leone's colleagues will come for his soul? The human devil disappeared into the blizzard, any hint of his existence disappearing into the storm with him. Leone, on the other hand, kept stepping forward. One foot in front of the other. His steps crunched in the freshly fallen snow. A dark blur loomed in front of him, too far away to see clearly but close enough to register. Half-frozen alive, the world was cold, but he couldn't feel it. Maybe that was a blessing. He collapsed into a snowbank with a cry of utter despair, echoing through an otherwise silent forest as his thoughts dissolved into gold. He was not afraid to die. If a tree fell in the forest and nobody was around to hear it, did it even make a sound?

It wasn't every night that Bruno heard two ear-piercing screams right after one another this close to his cabin. _Especially_ not from (presumably) the same person. He enjoyed snow about as much as someone who had to put up with it could, but still he wrestled with his inner lazy bastard in a debate about whether or not it was worth it to go outside and check. Everyone who was anyone knew better than to be caught in the middle of nowhere in a snowstorm like this. His doors locked, and the axe that lay by his bed was sturdy. Whoever it was would freeze to death before they managed to break in. Of course, that also appealed to the part of him that helped others at any cost to himself. _They could be someone who made a mistake, _it argued, _and they'll freeze to death if you don't help them, remember? _

His bed by the window, dripping in enough furs to clothe a large family, called him. At the same time, the mystery in the snow did too. The warmer placed underneath his covers was surely doing a wonderful job. Any minute now, he could go to sleep and forget about any intruders. He could. He should. But Bruno didn't. His altruism won out, and he tugged on both his snow boots and jacket for what he hoped was the last time. If he took his axe with him too, then that was between him and the blizzard.

Bruno wasn't expecting to find a dead man walking haloed by shimmering gold, bent over in a grotesque kneel and unable to continue, muttering unintelligible nothings that he couldn't make sense of above the roar of the storm. He was going to die. "I'm going to help you," he called, even though they are less than six feet apart, and as he approached, the maniac didn't even look up. Was he truly a maniac, or just driven to delirium by death's proximity? Only one way to find out. Bruno hefted the man up by his armpits but only dropped him again as the dead man failed to stand on shaky legs that would not cooperate. The gold surrounding the dead man was blood, judging by how strange he was acting. Something must have been very wrong if it was not red.

The dead man raised his frightened gaze at last, clutching onto his arm like he'd die if he let go. His eyes were inhuman, purple-yellow, but _so _beautiful. "I don't- I don't understand," he stuttered and made an attempt at standing again, which failed. The dead man's blood wasn't transparent like it should have been, standing out on dark folds of fabric and highlighting the apparent deep wound on his torso. It needed to be cleaned and bandaged. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because you'll die if I don't."

He couldn't let that happen. No more time for games, and so Bruno offered only a "brace yourself" as a warning before hefting the dead man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He was lighter than he looked. Trudging back through the snow, he murmured low and reassuring, as if calming a child, "I am going to treat you, and you are going to survive." The dead man was limp. The only sign his heart hadn't stopped yet was the way he continued to mutter.

"You're wasting your time," he said, and Bruno racked his brain for something, anything, to talk about in pursuit of keeping the dead man awake. His lips and fingers were pale and blue. If he fell asleep, that was the end.

"What is your name?"

"Leone," says the dead man. He didn't know Leone well enough to know if it suited him or not, but Bruno hoped he got the chance to learn. He slammed open the front door with his one free hand and swept off the wooden table in the center of the room, flinging Leone over it and wincing at the _thump _he made. He landed stomach-up, and the wound on his stomach spat up more blood. At least none of it hit Bruno. Leone didn't move.

What could he do?

Up and down were concepts that didn't apply to someone like Leone as his eyes slid shut and he surrendered to the sudden change from cold to warm. Off came his overcoat at the mercy of unfamiliar hands. His savior. spoke but he did not comprehend a word. "At least let me have dinner first," he rasped, coughing up blood, and then everything hurt again.

The strong alcohol-reek of vodka pervaded the air as his torso was drenched in the stuff, dripping off the table and burning like a hot iron pressed to his wounds. Leone's fingers twitched and his head lolled to the side as he swore, body curling up involuntarily in a lame attempt to protect himself. "I'm sorry," said the man whose house he was in, whose soothing voice he couldn't understand, "please, just a little longer, stay with me, you can rest when I'm done." Shapes flitted behind his closed eyelids, dark silhouettes of a person Leone did not have the energy to behold. His reality was soupy and ethereal, fraying at the edges. Perhaps he was going loopy. Bandages slid across his chest with no care for his comfort. The sting kept him conscious, especially once he made quick work of the stab on his arm. At last it seemed his savior was finished. "These will both scar. I don't have the right material to give you stitches, but you'll survive. My bed is large enough for two. If you don't mind, we can share."

"No, I don't," he slurred, twisting on the table, and whimpered pathetically as strong arms picked him up again. Too much too quickly, his head felt like someone had split it wide open with a rogue sledgehammer. For the second time that night, he was dumped onto another surface, but this one was far softer, and Leone melted into it. If this was his savior's bed, it was _massive, _with more space than he could ever dream of occupying. Strands of his own hair tickled Leone's nose, fanning out like the moon over the pillow beneath his head. His savior slid in next to him and pulled another blanket over them both but maintained a respectable distance. Just like that, he was out like a light. Leone dropped into a warm, dreamless, sleep and didn't wake up for quite some time.

Halfway through the second day of being comatose in someone else's bed, Leone shifted in his sleep and rolled over with a sigh, coming face to face with his stranger as he woke gently. He hadn't been conscious long enough to solidify his face into something angry and instead watched the other's face for some cue on how to react. His stranger was beautiful in a warm way, like a summer evening just before nightfall, or a sun-baked lake. It chased away some of the lingering ache in Leone's bones to behold. The window above the bed allowed in strangely slanted beams of light, indicative of late afternoon. "Hello," he said as he pulled the pillow to his chest to hide his nudity. He didn't remember taking anything off, and certainly not how he got here.

"Hello again," said his stranger from where he stood over an open-flame hearth, between Leone and the door, ladling a hefty spoonful of soup into a massive bowl. The starving pit in the bottom of his stomach opened up and roared. 'I'm making some soup. I'll give you some." Leone sat up in bed and moved to get up, shoving the blanket off of himself and shivering at the sudden cold. The floor chilled his bare feet as he padded across to wait by the fire.

"Where are my clothes and things?" he asked.

"Your shirt is hanging from the rafters. As for the four knives it concealed, you will get them back if or when I deem you not a threat to my safety." His stranger had a point, but Leone cursed himself. Had he been foolish enough to get expensive silver knives confiscated? Of course, he could pull more from the minerals of the Underworld, but going back down would take energy that he did not have. Gods couldn't starve, so why was he so hungry?

Leone pulled his overcoat from where it dangled from the exposed beams making the ceiling like a great angry bat, wordlessly tugging the laces mostly shut. He watched his stranger without speaking, expectant, making a grab for the bowl. His stranger pulled it just out of his reach with a melodic chuckle. "Entitled, aren't you? You'll get your soup on one condition."

"What?" he growled.

"You're going to answer some questions for me. Sit down." His stranger gestured to the table he'd been bandaged up on, now re-cluttered with all kinds of knicknacks, and Leone did as he was asked. The emptiness in his stomach did not leave him room to disobey. "The last time you were conscious, you told me your name, so it's only fair you know mine. I am Bruno Buccellati, and two sunrises ago, you showed up on death's doorstep. I've been changing your bandages for all the time you've been out, two days and a night, and already you're almost recovered from two near-fatal wounds. How? Answer honestly."

"I'm a quick healer," Leone shrugged off, and his interrogator wasn't satisfied in the slightest, but a deal was a deal. Bruno tore off a too-small chunk from a loaf of bread on the opposite end of the table and winged it in Leone's direction. He wolfed it down but it only made his hunger worse. It wasn't nearly enough. His voice took an irritated edge. "The soup?" he reminded.

"You'll get your soup when we're done. In the meantime, you get to starve. Next question! Are you some form of fugitive?"

Now that was insulting. Did Leone look like the kind who got in trouble with the law?"Wh_-no!_ I'm innocent." That last part was a white lie. But he was no criminal, and that was what counted. Leone didn't intend any harm. Bruno tossed another chunk.

"How old are you?"

Leone was only a baby god, still relatively new to immortality, but that hadn't stopped the Powers That Be from slamming him with difficult job after job. He had a theory that They dropped the unpleasant work on the "young" immortals to take the easy ones for themselves. It seemed counterintuitive, but who was he to question the way things Were? "Twenty-one."

"Why were you hurt?"

"I'm a... debt collector of sorts, and one of the men whose debt I was called in to collect got violent. He stabbed me twice."

"Interesting. It's disgusting, for a man to owe something and then to try and end another life just to get out of paying his debts." Leone made a vicious noise of agreement as he downed the third piece of bread, but Bruno's guard did not drop. "He is still out there, I assume. Final question. Why do you bleed gold?"

Answering Bruno in technical-truths was easier than he thought it would be. "Familial condition. My mother passed it down to me." At last the other man was satisfied and slid the bowl of soup in front of Leone. He didn't even notice the spoon passed his way right after until he'd already downed the warm liquid like it was an antidote to deadly . Bruno's eyes upon him were no longer suspicious, like someone who was trying to deduce whether or not he was to be hurt, but instead merely appalled at his lack of manners. Leone would save his decorum for when there was a real occasion to use it. "Did I pass your little _interrogation_?" he drawled, heaving for breath after getting a little too lost in his soup.

Bruno looked lost, taken a bit aback. "You're… telling the truth."

"Of course I am," Leone snapped back. "What motivation do I have to lie? You saved my _life. _I'd be a shitbag if I pulled some stupid stunt." Bruno poured more soup into his bowl, and this time, he used the spoon. It was pretty good. He couldn't identify the kind of meat in it, but it was rich-tasting, reminding him of the ambrosia he typically consumed, but still quintessentially _mortal _in its flavor. Asking what it was would be a major red flag that he was inhuman, and so he remained silent and enjoyed it.

"Well? Do you have anywhere to go back to?"

"My boss will not be happy with my failure."

"You nearly _died. _Will they not cut you any slack for a near-death experience?"

"Yes, but they will not see it that way," he said, glum, "I'm not _supposed _to fail."

Bruno's mouth opened without any input from him. "Let me see your hands." Leone blanched but obliged, turning them over. Long-fingered and pale as death, his hands were soft and smooth, not a callus to be found, and almost cute. The man had never done a day of hard labor in his life. It tempered Bruno's decision somewhat. He still didn't retract the offer. The words, "stay here," glided out, and Leone brightened as soon as he heard them, as if he had never considered avoiding his problems instead of facing them head on. From what Bruno knew of Leone's boss, they were a tyrant, and having another pair of hands around to help would be no small improvement. The silence got monotonous after too long spent alone. He welcomed another voice to break it.

"And what if I'm some kind of deranged serial killer?" Leone's posturing wasn't very good, and it was apparent that he did not mean his half-threat. He had an honest face, and, coupled with Bruno's own skill at catching idiots in lies or deception, it was apparent that Leone wouldn't try anything.

"As long as you're willing to learn how best to skin a dead animal, of course." That would turn him away if he truly was some kind of noble like Bruno suspected. "Think of it as your way of repaying me."

Instead, Leone didn't even flinch, and instead clasped his hands, deep in thought. "If you'll have me." His face was resolute.

"Are you positive? I still only have one bed. More space won't appear for you to occupy."

"Are _you _trying to turn me away on purpose? If you don't want me here, I will leave."

"You're welcome to leave at any time. I'm not going to trap you here. But allow me to warn you now, if you steal my property or damage my home, only to flee like a coward, I _will _track you down, and I _will _end your life. Do you understand?" He doubted Leone would get far in the event of a robbery. Nobody knew his forest like Bruno did. Any tracks the other left would be blindingly obvious to him, especially in the event that his nobleman theory was correct. Leone nodded. "Then, I'm sure it will be a pleasure working with you. What's mine is yours."

"Awful easy to trust, you are," Leone jabbed.

Bruno's face went pink against his will. In a vain attempt to salvage his somehow-decaying pride, he tacked on, "And what's your proof that I won't suffocate you in your sleep?"

"You had your chance, and you didn't." Then, with a strange grin that left Bruno uncomfortable and uneasy, like he had forgotten something, like he had just let the fox into the chicken coop, Leone added, "Besides, you couldn't kill me if you tried." Neither of them wanted to test that theory. Leone broke the uncomfortable weight in the air with a placating "What would you have me do first?"

"When the sun sets a little further, we are going to hunt deer as they rest."


End file.
